Thomas Davison, Courier Seven
by BigLollipop002
Summary: A seventh strange item was to be delivered, but was never mentioned until now, where Thomas Davison is offered the job. He is ambushed by a man in a checkered suit. Thomas wants to know who ambushed him and why. Will he get his revenge? This is my own version of Vegas, with some new characters and locations.
1. Introduction

This is my own twist on New Vegas, with some of the locations in the game and some of my own, and the same with characters.

I don't need to tell you about the war that plunged us into being a state of post nuclear war.

I may need to tell you that war never changes.

After everything was bombed, barely anything left of use, couldn't everybody get along and help each other? No. To this day, money is everything, or should I say, CAPS are everything. Wealthy people of the Mojave Wasteland rule, as well as the ones with the big armies and the huge guns. I've never cared for making a big name for myself. I only took the job for the 5,000 caps that were in it for me. You see, there were six couriers provided jobs with the Mojave Express, told to deliver strange items. They had a seventh item, an item they had told nobody else about. A small package, about five pounds, with God-Knows-What inside. That's all I can remember. That is, before the ambush. A landmine is what started it, and when I stepped on it, I flew backwards, only happy to have legs. The rest... I'd figure out. I'd figure out who that man in the checkered suit was and the rest of the details of my life before this. But for now... well, it's time I pick myself up off the ground and start the rest of my life.


	2. Welcome to Goodsprings, Partner!

I lift myself off the ground, which is quite a task with the pain in my legs, and stand, looking around. I appear to be on top of a large hill, and at the bottom of it is a small town. I fear for what will happen if I try to get there too quickly, so I attempt to take my time in getting down the hill. I take a few steps before falling over and rolling down, hitting a rock or two and perhaps getting a concussion. When I reach the bottom, I moan, dizzy and in more pain than before. I look at my arm and see a bloody mess all over it. I reach to touch it with my right hand but cringe when I do, realizing that I will need some serious medical attention before doing much. I look around and remember the reason I had gone down the hill in the first place; there is a town in front of me. I look a little more to my right and see a schoolhouse. A giant mantis walks towards me through a hole in the fence and I know that it is going to attack me. As it gets closer, it attempts to bite me, but I punch it in the face. I rip off it's antennas, sending it into a rage. It bites my arm and I realize how weak it is, snapping its neck. I laugh thinking about how easy that was, even with all the pain.

I stand up, pulling myself together, trying to stay on task. On a nearby road is a robot with the face of a cowboy. He sees me and approaches.

"Well, howdy Partner! Welcome to our looooovely town of Goodsprings!" The name is vaguely familiar, perhaps a place I had been to before. "My, oh my, you are quite the bloody mess! Uh, no offense. What's yer name, Partner?" I stare at him, not exactly sure what to do or say. He seems friendly, but it's hard to trust anybody out in the Mojave.

"The name's Thomas. Thomas Davison. Do you have any idea about the men who ambushed me, specifically the man in the checkered suit?"

"Well, nice to meet you Thomas, I'm Victor. Unfortunately, I have no idea who you're talking about. We don't get many visitors around Goodsprings except for traveling merchants or couriers stopping by to get a drink. We haven't seen anyone in a checkered suit, however. But you say they ambushed you, huh? Is that the reason you're so bloody?"

"You could say that. Or you could say that I fell down a hill. Or both."

"Well, why don't we get you down to Doc Mitchell's house? I'm sure he'll be able to patch you up."

"Whoa, hold on just a minute. I have no idea who you people are. How do I know that you aren't the people that attacked me?"

"Well, Partner, I cannot change your opinions or thoughts, but I can tell you there's nobody like Doc Mitchell that can patch you up for many miles. Even those who could may not be willing to. However, you are entitled to your own opinion, so you can walk out and leave Goodsprings now or stay a while and get patched up and meet the locals! How about it, Partner?" I pause for a moment, unsure of what to do... although, perhaps this Victor guy is right. I probably couldn't get medical attention for many miles, and that means many days, and that could mean many weeks trying to walk with these injuries.

"Alright, bring me to this Doc Mitchell man." I say reluctantly.


	3. Doc Mitchell

I wake up to a bright light, aching all over, feeling very tired.

"Oh, you're awake. How about that." says a voice. My eyes are still unfocused, and I can't really make out where I am for a few moments before realizing that before me is Doc Mitchell, though my vision is still poorly focused. I immediately sat up, trying to take in my surroundings as always. "Whoa, easy now. Easy." says the older man with the white mustache and bald head in overalls and black gloves. "You've been out a few days now. Get yourself together and take it easy." he says. I lay back down, keeping my eyes open and on him, still gathering my surroundings. We are in a house that has been made into a doctor's office or hospital. I lay on an operating bed where he must have patched me up. "Now, I understand your name is Thomas Davison. Well, I can't say it's the name I would've picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name." he says, standing up and walking over to a desk. He grabs something and walks back. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' in your noggin to get all the bits of lead out. I'm no plastic surgeon, but I take some pride in my needlework so... how'd I do?" he says, handing me a mirror. I look back at myself, a 24 year old Caucasian man with messy black hair and hazel eyes. I look back up at him and smile.

"Well, Doc, I think I'm lookin' much finer than the other day when I arrived here, that's for sure." I say with a laugh as he joins in.

"Now," he says. "Let's see if you can stand up." He grabs my arm and helps me lift myself off the bed. My legs are a little wobbly and I feel dizzy, but I adjust and am able to stand. "Very well. Before you leave, I do have a few more procedures just to make sure you're sane and all."

"Of course," I reply. "But would you mind if I got dressed first?" I say, looking down at my underpants.

"Aha, yes, of course, sorry. I left your clothes in a footlocker under the bed. The rest of your bearings are in a large crate near the door on the way out, but let's finish up here."

* * *

"Thank you once again for patching me up, Doc."

"No problem, Thomas. It's just what I do. Also, according to my results, you seem very sane. You're a fine man, Thomas Davison. Hopefully, you have a bright future here in the Mojave Wasteland." he says. I open up the large crate in which my bearings are stored. A 9mm pistol with 52 bullets. A Vault 13 Canteen. A pair of binoculars. 150 caps. Finally, a Mojave Express Order. I decide that it should be dealt with later, and that trying to figure that out now would distract me from the task at hand: putting all the pieces of the story of what happened to me together. "Oh, before you leave, Thomas," says Doc Mitchell. "Talk to some of the locals if you need some pointers on surviving or finding the men who attacked you. Don't forget to come back if you get yourself injured again... just try to not to get KILLED next time, alright?" he says laughing. I join in.

"Alright Doc. See ya around." I say, leaving Doc Mitchell's home and heading back out into the town of Goodsprings.


End file.
